Four paintings and a book
by mimijag
Summary: Little stories about Tom and Sybil through the years dealing with paintings...and a book. Fluff alert. Dedicated to Shan-Rosee for her birthday :)


**It's been a long time since I wrote something new and original. So here it is, fluff and all. thank you to Skinnycat77 for the beta and the help. I dedicate this fic to Shana-rosee for her birthday ( a little bit late :) ). Let me know what you think. x**

**Four Paintings and a Book**

**July 1914**

The weather was just perfect. The air was mild, neither too hot nor too cold and there was a little gentle wind that was very pleasant. The sky was blue, immaculate. Sybil was standing away from the big house, at the other side of the park and was focused on her work, completely isolated in her own bubble and unaware of the world around her.

"It's beautiful. You're very talented."

Branson's voice startled her and she turned sharply in his direction. She smiled at him then returned her attention on her work, not without noticing he was out of uniform.

"You're not working today?" she asked him innocently while sliding her brush on the canvas.

"You're father gave me the afternoon off so I decided to enjoy a walk in the woods for a change. I just came back and I saw you so I thought I'd stop to bid you a good afternoon," he answered, encouraged to do so by the fact that she had held his hand a few days ago at the garden party.

"I needed to get away from the house. They're all talking about war and I wanted to clear my mind for a while. I need to be busy and not to think about what is happening not so far away."

"I thought you would be interested in what is happening?"

"I am. But things are serious enough so I decided to indulge myself with a break. Do you think it's selfish?"

"No, not at all. It's human. I have to confess that for the past few days I have been having my meals in my cottage to avoid some conversations with the staff. So you see, you're not selfish."

She smiled at him again as he was trying to find a way to speak about what happened at the garden party. He was about to ask about Gwen but she was faster.

"It's been a long time since I last painted. I'm kind of rusty."

"I think you're good."

"Really?" she asked, frowning, her nose making this adorable pout he was loving so much.

She looked at her work for some time before shrugging.

"I don't know. Do you have a hobby? Is there something you like to do when you're not working? Apart from walking in the woods and reading, of course. "

Tom laughed.

"I like to write. But I don't think I'm very good at it. Not to make a living with it anyway."

"Don't say that! I already told you, you would make a wonderful politician some day. You need to work on your writing for the speeches, isn't it?"

"I think so. But, I'm more interested in writing a novel. At least, when I find a subject, that is."

"I think it's an as fine ambition as politics, and I would love to read your work, some day," she said. "Plus, I'm sure there are better chances for your writing to earn you money than my paintings for me!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I'm sure this painting will be a memento of your childhood house when you're old and grey."

Sybil laughed.

"Well, I don't think so far. Maybe it will just stay in the attic until Carson gets rid of it."

"It would be a great loss."

"Then, maybe I'll just have to give it to you when it's finished then?"

"I wouldn't mind having a memento of my time here when I'm back home."

A heavy silence took place then between them, each one pondering his words and their meaning for each other.

"It's a done deal, then," Sybil finally said after a while.

**Christmas 1918**

She still didn't know how she managed to get out of the house without being noticed by her family, but her heart was beating faster as she headed to Tom's cottage. She knew it would have been more reasonable to wait to give him her present but she couldn't wait any longer. She couldn't wait to see his face when he would open the package she was now holding against her chest.

Breathless, she knocked at his door, relieved to see that there was still some light through the window. She hadn't seen him all day and couldn't tell him she had the idea on her mind to come and visit him. But, it was probably for the best because she was sure he would have said no, always worrying about what it would do to her reputation if she was ever discovered in his quarters.

The door opened quickly and Tom's eyes went wide when he saw who it was.

"What are you doing here?" he asked while pulling her inside.

"Well, I'm glad to see you too," she joked, placing a light kiss on his mouth.

She was really enjoying this new freedom they had together.

"Shouldn't you be celebrating Christmas with your family right now? Won't they wonder where you went?"

Sybil shrugged.

"I told them I was going to lie down for a while because I had a headache. But I'm sure I didn't fool my sisters so I can't stay long. I just wanted to give you your present."

Tom looked at her and shook his head.

"I thought we voted for no gifts this year?"

"I know. But it's nothing really. It didn't cost me a penny."

"Now, I'm intrigued," declared Tom.

"Hurry, open it!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands after giving him the present.

Tom tore apart the brown paper to reveal a painting in a frame. It was breathtaking. It was home. And then he saw the signature on it, just at the bottom, in the blue of the ocean.

"You painted this? But how did you know? You never been over there…it's so alike."

His voice was charged with emotion and his eyes were filled with tears. The painting depicted the perfect Ireland coast, with a blue ocean, a red cliff and a wild green pasture. Seeing Tom's reaction to her gift, Sybil felt the emotion growing in her too. She gulped.

"I found a book in Ripon with a lot of descriptions and prints. Then, I just let my imagination do the work. Do you like it?"

" Do I like it? It's just the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me! It is everything. Oh, thank you my Darling. Thank you so much."

Without losing anymore time, Tom took her in his arms and kissed her with everything he had in him. When he, at last, moved back a little bit, Sybil's head was spinning.

"I promise you, my Love. I'll take you over there one day and you'll see for real what your mind so rightly showed you."

"I can't wait," she breathed in his neck, hugging him tightly against her.

**London 1926**

"Mam, can we go play, now?" sighed six year old Saoirse, her little brother Patrick, three years old, seated next to her.

"Very soon, My Darlings," answered Sybil to her daughter, "I'm almost done."

Tom was seated on the sofa next to where she was standing reading his newspaper.

"You said that an hour ago," Tom breathed softly.

Sybil glared at him and Tom rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Syb. It's Saturday and they have been still on their chairs for ages. And it's quite an exploit, by the way. But you can't ask them not to complain."

"They're not the ones complaining right now," she answered.

Resigned by the fact she probably won't do more work for the day, she put away her brush and motioned to her children.

"Alright, you can go. And since you have been angels, you can have a cookie in the kitchen before going to play. But eat them at the table, not in your rooms."

Saoirse bounced from her chair, followed by her little brother (who was used to mimicking his big sister all the time) and walked to her mother.

"Can we see?" she asked.

"Sure. But it's not finished yet."

Saoirse and Patrick looked at their mother's painting and the little girl made a face.

"Er, we're looking like potatoes!" she complained.

"Branson potatoes!" chuckled Patrick.

Tom couldn't repress a frank laugh at seeing his children's reaction and it earned him a black glare from his wife.

"It's not finished!" exclaimed Sybil. "Now, go play before I change my mind," she said to her children before turning to her husband. "And you…you better stop laughing."

"I'm sorry, Love. But I have to say that I think they're not completely wrong."

He knew he was playing with fire but he couldn't help it. He always enjoyed teasing her and enjoyed even more making up after a fight. Plus, it was true that Sybil was better at painting landscapes than portraits. Sybil had crossed her arms on her chest and was still glaring at him.

"You want us to discuss the progress of your novel?" she asked, defiantly.

Tom immediately stopped laughing, becoming serious again. She knew him. She knew where to hit him.

"You're right, I shouldn't have made fun of you. And in front of the kids. I'm sorry. Come here."

He reached for her hand and she took it. He then pulled her and she landed on his lap on the sofa. She put an arm around his neck and, her cheek against his, they looked at her painting together. She chuckled.

"I can't stay mad at you. Saoirse is right, they do look like potatoes."

"Yes. But the important thing is that they're painted with love," he said, patting her rounded belly where the future addition to the family was growing.

Sybil smiled softly and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"You're too good at apologizing," she breathed against his lips before kissing him deeply.

**Dublin 1940**

Tom didn't know what disturbed him in his sleep but something did. He tried to roll over to snuggle against his wife but something behind his back was preventing him from doing so. Groaning, he slowly fluttered an eye open to try and see what was going on. The bedroom was dimly lit and the air was fresh. He reached down to pull over him the sheet that was wrapped around his legs, memory of the hot love session he had earlier with Sybil but a voice stopped him.

"Don't move!" she ordered.

He finally surrendered and completely opened his eyes to find his wife, seated a few feet away from their bed, only clad in his shirt, the white cloth hanging open, offering him an amazing view of his wife's breasts.

She was painting.

He sighed, "Love, it's the middle of the night. Come back to bed."

She shook her head, "I can't sleep."

"OK," he sighed, rubbing his sleep-filled eyes. "What's the matter?"

She only shrugged and continued to paint. So Tom decided to disobey her orders and got up. He walked to her, as naked as the day he was born, and stopped behind her. He bent over her and slid his arms around her, hugging her.

"Tell me, Love," he breathed in her ear. Sybil finally put her brush away and sighed loudly. "I'm worried because of the war. I'm worried because of what it could do to the world but, more selfishly, to our family."

"We're living in Ireland now and we're neutral here. Beside, I'm too old and unfit to go. And the boys are too young." Sybil gripped his hands that were hanging on her shoulders. "I know I'm irrational. But there's George, Bobby…and so many other family and friends in England…"

Tom didn't answer. What could he say anyway? They've been back in Dublin for almost ten years now, both having work they liked, kids healthy and doing great in their studies. As a journalist, he often wrote a lot about war in his articles. But once home, he selfishly wanted to forget about it, happy to be away from it.

"You're getting better," he finally said, wanting to change subject and ease Sybil's mind.

She chuckled and tilted her head to the side to admire her work. "You think so?"

"Well, I don't look so much like a potato. But you shouldn't paint an old thing like me…and naked. Although, I'll say that the result is quite flattering," he laughed.

"You're still the same to me," she said softly. "But don't worry; this one won't end up on our living room wall. I'll keep it for my eyes only."

"Thank God," chuckled Tom. "So now…" He trailed a line of kisses along her jaw as his hands went south, caressing her breasts sensuously. "What would you say about going back to bed and make love to this old Apollon."

Eyes closed, enjoying his ministrations, Sybil sighed contently. "I'd say, lead the way, Mister Branson."

Not wasting another minute, Tom reached for her and threw her over his shoulder, soundly slapping her backside. Sybil chuckled and squealed in delight when he dropped her on the bed, the mattress bouncing under them. Tom rolled over her and put his hand on her mouth to stop her giggling.

"Shhh…you're going to wake up the kids. Do you want another session of awkward looks at breakfast tomorrow?" But this warning just made Sybil laugh even more heartedly, so Tom just did what he was sure would stop her.

He kissed her.

**Dublin 1950**

The whole family was gathered around the Christmas tree as the gift opening session was ending with laughs and happiness. It had been a long time since they were all together like this as the kids were now all grown up. Only Michael and Violet were still living with their parents as they were studying in Dublin. The two older children now had their own lives in London, working and both married with kids.

"That was the last one," said Michael half pouting.

"Santa was very generous this year," said Tom patting his wife's leg as she was seated in his lap.

"He was," she answered, admiring the scarf he gave her wrapped around her neck. "Now, we all should get ready to go to Aunty Catherine's," she added.

She was about to get up from Tom's lap but he put a hand on her knee to stop her.

"Actually, I think there's one left," he said with an enigmatic smile.

The family, who had started to get up as well, all stopped and sat back down.

"I don't see any more gifts under the tree, Grandpa," said young Helen, Saoirse's daughter.

"It's because he left it here," answered Tom. He reached to his side, under the sofa pillow and pulled out a small package.

"Merry Christmas, Love," he said, giving it to Sybil.

She looked at him with surprise, but eagerly reached for it.

"What is it?" she asked with the curiosity of a child.

"Just open it!" Tom chuckled.

Sybil tore at the paper to reveal a book. But it wasn't any book. It was THE book, she could feel it even if there wasn't any inscription on the cover. The one he talked about for years. The one he promised to her but also to himself he would write. The project of his life.

"You finished it?"

Tom nodded. "I did. It's not the final version, though. I wanted your advice before it's published. My editor is waiting."

"So, you finally found the subject of your story. And you didn't say anything to me!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise. Open it!"

Sybil obeyed under the scrutiny of her family. At seeing the title on the first page, she suppressed a sob and let her fingers lingering on the words. "It's about us?" she asked slowly, finally looking up to him. "It's our story?"

He looked back at her, emotion clearly on his face and his eyes as watery as hers. "Yes. I wanted to tell our story. I wanted to tell how a beautiful and smart woman had the courage to abandon her world for me. I wanted to tell the story of the woman who made me the happiest man in the world."

Sybil reached out and took his cheek in her hand. "YOU made me the happiest woman in the world. And you too," she added to her children who were staring at their parents with emotion.

"_The__Lady and the Chauffeur_, I can't wait to read it," she said, turning the first page and starting to read.

"I had to put some fiction in it, you know, to keep it interesting for outsiders. But not so much in the end, I think."

Sybil just nodded, already engrossed in her story. Tom chuckled softly and leaned to her ear, "I also had to tell some of our sex feats, you know, just to keep it as close as possible to the truth."

Sybil shivered and finally looked at him. "You have? No way will I let the kids read this, then," she murmured back.

"You, Sybil Branson, don't turn prude on me," he answered back with a laugh. "They all know how they came to the world!"

"Still, it's embarrassing…"

She thought she had spoken low but…

"Not as embarrassing as some sounds coming from your bedroom…"said Michael, rising up with a satisfied smile, soon followed by his siblings and their kids. "Don't worry, I think we're blasé."

Saoirse, Violet and Patrick all started to laugh at seeing the shocked look on their parents' faces and proceeded to leave them alone in order to get ready for the meal at their aunt's house.

"I think we're exposed, Love," Tom finally said with a chuckle.

"I'm mortified," moaned Sybil, hiding her face in his neck.

"Don't be. I'm not," he shrugged. "They know what love is and we just have to hope that seeing their parents love each other so much through the years would have showed them the road. I wish for them to be as happy as we have been."

"And it's not over yet," sighed Sybil before leaning in to kiss him.

The kiss was meant only to be a way to seal their love but it soon became much more and grew with intensity. Tom sighed in her mouth as her tongue was battling with his. Having Sybil slowly moving in his lap wasn't helping him to control his desire and he soon felt himself growing hard. The hand that was gently resting on her waist until now, now had its own mind and was sliding along her leg, searching for the bottom of her nightdress.

"Good God! Get a room!" called Saoirse when she got back in the living room to look for her youngest daughter's teddy bear.

Her parents drew apart and looked up at her.

_At least they look guilty _thought Saoirse before turning away and leaving again.

"She's right," Sybil finally said after putting a peck on her husband's lips. "We need to get ready. Keep the thought for later?"

Tom eagerly nodded.

"The last one upstairs makes the bed," she laughed, getting up suddenly from his lap and starting to run away.

"You're cheating!" groaned Tom following her more slowly. "You know I can't run as fast as you because of my back!"

"Don't be such a spoilsport!" she called from the top of the stairs. "Just hurry up!"

Tom was only mid-stairs when he heard their bedroom's door slam and he shook his head. Life with Sybil Crawley had been quite a ride and it seemed like the passing years weren't doing anything to change things. And he was so thankful for this. He reached the door of their sanctuary at last and, despite what she said earlier about getting ready to leave, he knew for sure that his wife was waiting for him in their bed, probably already naked, because as sure as he was in love with her, he knew that Sybil Crawley hated to waste time when it was about him showing her his love.

He opened the door and there she was, lying down on her side on their bed, naked, her head popped up on her hand, his book in the other one, only wearing his glasses. He quickly shut the door behind him and walked to her, already shrugging off his dressing gown.

She looked up at him with a saucy grin and started to read:

"This story could have started with the traditional _Once upon a time_ as it is clearly looking like a fairy tale but…"

Her words died when her husband's mouth crashed on hers. He took the book from her hand and threw it over his shoulder where it landed loudly on the floor. Nothing else was more important now than the love he had for his wife, his lady…and the great need he had to show her his love was as great as the one she had to do so for him.

The End


End file.
